


pleasing you, pleases me

by redlightofdawn



Series: pleasing you, pleases me [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Gentle Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, How is that not a tag, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Underage Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roach probably had to witness this, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Twink Jaskier, Under-negotiated Kink, lbr Jaskier has a daddy kink but I don't Use That Word, very minor comeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightofdawn/pseuds/redlightofdawn
Summary: The first time Geralt calls him 'boy', he doesn't really think about it. It's what Jaskier is; at 17 he might be considered an adult by society’s standards, but to Geralt the distinction is not so readily apparent.Jaskier's reaction, however, is plenty apparent.Heart rate spike, flushed cheeks and a flash of the twangy musk of arousal.Geralt doesn't let himself react, pretends he didn't notice. That he doesn't notice the way Jaskier's eyes linger.Geralt does his best not to use that word any more.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: pleasing you, pleases me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696861
Comments: 38
Kudos: 991





	pleasing you, pleases me

The first time Geralt calls him 'boy', he doesn't really think about it. It's what Jaskier is; at 17 he might be considered an adult by society’s standards, but to Geralt the distinction is not so readily apparent.

Jaskier's reaction, however, is plenty apparent.

Heart rate spike, flushed cheeks and a flash of the twangy musk of arousal.

Geralt doesn't let himself react, pretends he didn't notice. That he doesn't notice the way Jaskier's eyes linger.

Geralt does his best not to use that word any more.

-

It's hard. The years pass, and even once Geralt cannot deny the man is a fair ways into adulthood, something of that boyish quality persists. His face never loses that softness, even during hard times on the road, his beard never comes in. Jaskier remains slight despite their long travels together, his body growing muscle in places but remaining slim. It is like every aspect of him is mindful that Jaskier should remain delicate and fragile, untouched by age or hardship.

Despite his best efforts, Geralt is haunted by that awareness.

-

Jaskier's mind seems to also be determined to remain childish, if his foolishness is to be believed. Geralt had told him to stay back, but the bard had decided to follow him anyway, and Geralt, already well accustomed to ignoring his enticing smell, somehow hadn't noticed him.

And now the idiot is fallen to the Nixa's trance, and Geralt has to catch one arm around the bardling's waist to keep him from willingly jumping into the siren's rapidly growing maw, while his other one slashes his silver sword through the creature's throat.

He barely notices the Nixa's death throes; he is hyper aware of the hot body pressed up against his side, of how effortless it is to hold his weight, how slight his waist is, easily encircled by his arm, _fuck_ , he bets he could fit his hands around it with room to spare.

The sudden wave of lust adds fuel to the fire of his anger at being disobeyed, and the thunk of the siren's head falling to the floor is still echoing when Geralt spins them around to slam Jaskier against a nearby tree, letting the befouled sword fall to the floor.

" _Thought I told you to stay back, boy_ ," Geralt roars into Jaskier's face, holding him up by the front of his fancy doublet.

He doesn't expect the whimper he receives in response.

"I'm sorry, _sir_ ," Jaskier utters, breathy, and Geralt is suddenly aware of several things. 

The way the doublet, bunched up in his hand, is riding up, revealing Jaskier's impossibly narrow waist and soft pale skin.

How blown Jaskier's pupils are, his cheeks flushing fetchingly.

And the heavy smell of arousal in the air, his and Jaskier's.

_Fuck._

Geralt's control snaps, and he pushes into Jaskier, pinning the younger man against the tree using the hulk of his body. Jaskier whimpers again, and having the normally verbose bard struck silent is making Geralt’s blood _sing_.

"You want to be punished, that it? Want me to put you over my knee," Geralt breathes hotly into Jaskier's ear, and the whimper turns into an outright moan. Geralt can feel Jaskier's erection pressed into his belly. "Answer me, _boy_."

"I'm sorry, _sir_ , please, I'll be _good_ ," and the boy is so earnest, so desperate, Geralt has to bite back a groan.

"Don't think you know how to do that, little bard." Geralt let's his voice turn seductive, caressing, allowing the anger to to slip away, at least for now. The blatant submission is turning his blood to molten lava, and he's not opposed to rough sex, but he wants it clear that that's what they are doing. Sex, and not a fight, or coercion. Jaskier doesn't smell frightened, but there is a note of anxiety that is just slightly too sour to be simple nerves at bedding someone new. But once Geralt speaks, it's gone, settled by the assurance that Jaskier is not misreading the situation, if he had to guess.

"Let me show you, sir. _Please_ ," Jaskier pants, never breaking eye contact, and there’s not a lick of self-consciousness to be found as he lets his eyes go big and round, and his pink tongue deliberately licks his very red bottom lip.

The begging goes straight to Geralt's cock, and this time he does groan. This is a horrible idea, Geralt knows it is, it’s why he has been ignoring Jaskier's not so subtle flirting for years, but right now he can't remember why. He can only see the way Jaskier bites his red lips, big blue eyes full of truly unsubtle promise. "I want to make you feel _good_ ," Jaskier nearly purrs, and it's the middle of a forest with a Nixa's corpse right next to them and giving in is a horrible idea, but all Geralt can think of is those soft lips stretched around his cock, so he releases the bard abruptly, who nearly stumbles, but doesn't seem to mind the rough treatment.

"Get to it, then, brat," Geralt grumbles, shifting uncertainty on his feet for a bat before Jaskier is scrambling to his knees, the smell of arousal so thick in the air he can barely smell the Nixa blood.

"You won't regret it, _sir_ ," the bard says, and the cheeky tone he lets slip on the 'sir' already makes Geralt not believe him, but it's too late to reconsider. Jaskier's clever fingers are doing short work of Geralt's laces, and Geralt leans forward so he can rest his hand against the tree and comfortably watch Jaskier. The bard gets Geralt's cock out and the moan he lets out probably alerts half the forest of their presence.

" _Thank you_ , sir," Jaskier fawns, rubbing his face along Geralt's length, and it is so over the top and performatic it shouldn't work, really, but Geralt's cock leaks a spurt of precome against Jaskier's smooth cheek nonetheless.

 _Fuck_.

The bard seems delighted by it, going for his cockhead's slit as if to get a taste, once again moaning loudly as his tongue makes contact.

"Stop teasing," Geralt growls, reaching to tug on Jaskier's hair, just rough enough to sting. He is afraid he's going to blow his load before feeling the heat of the bard's mouth, the way things are going, and he can't have that. Jaskier looks blissed out at the treatment for a moment, before the message sinks, and it's a sign that the bardling maybe can be trained, that he merely utters a quick 'yessir' before taking Geralt in his mouth in one swift go. He can't fit all of Geralt, at least not right away, but it hardly matters; the wet heath of Jaskier's mouth is all he hoped for and more, and his clever, clever tongue more than makes up for the inches he can't take.

Geralt screws his eyes closed and reaches a hand to hold himself around the base, still loathe to finish so soon, and Jaskier immediately stills all his ministrations. Geralt frowns. He expects Jaskier to pull off and say something when Geralt himself remains silent, but several moments pass in that strange suspension of activity. Geralt is glad, on one hand, because it allows him to regain some semblance of control, but he quickly becomes impatient. He is about to growl at Jaskier to fucking _move_ , when an insistent pressure behind his thigh finally makes through his awareness. His eyes snap open and he realises Jaskier is looking at him intently, lips stretched indecently around Geralt's girth, and when the pressure repeats, he understands.

Geralt let's go of himself to cradle the back of Jaskier's head, never breaking eye contact. Hesitantly, he let his hips rock forward minutely.

The obscene groan that leaves Jaskier, his eyes rolling back into his head, when Geralt does, let's him know quickly he understood the message correctly.

His hips build up a rhythm swiftly, and Jaskier seems quite content to let Geralt lead, as it were. His eyes are shiny and bright, his fringe clinging with sweat to his forehead, and there's a high flush across his cheeks and nose. Geralt readjusts himself so he can bring his other hand down and run his thumb where Jaskier's lips stretch around him.

"So fucking pretty," Geralt grunts, keeping his pace even and thrusts shallow, and Jaskier _keens_. The pressure behind his thighs is back, even more insistent, but Geralt ignores it; part of him wants to see him choke on Geralt’s length, but he’s still in control enough not to let the kid damage himself in his own overeagerness. "Far too pretty for a man, aren't you boy. Too fucking soft and delicate to be running around someone like me," Geralt doesn't know where the sudden flood of words is coming from, but Jaskier apparently doesn't mind it. The keening is high pitched and nearly continuous, now, and the bard has shoved a hand inside his own breaches, taking himself in hand and working himself furiously. Geralt himself is slipping, his balls growing tight and heavy with upcoming release, and his thrusts are turning quick and uncoordinated, slipping deeper inside ever so often.

"Fuck, Jaskier," Geralt says, pulling out of the bard's mouth and taking himself in hand. The bard gasps greath lungfuls of air but doesn't break eye contact or slow his own hand down. "Open up," is all Geralt is able to grunt, and luckily Jaskier is eager to comply, sticking his tongue out with a moan just in time to catch Geralt's spent. Geralt let's some pool in the bard's awaiting tongue, before milking the last drips against Jaskier's soft cheek.

Jaskier let's the come sit in his tongue, mouth hanging open in what looks to be an uncomfortable way, expecting eyes still fixed on Geralt.

"Come, then you can swallow," Geralt orders and it's apparently the right thing to do. Jaskier's next moan is a garbled mess, but Jaskier keeps his mouth open until he is done spending, the white streaks painting the floor of the forest and one of Geralt's boots. Only after the last twitch of his cock does he finally close and swallow, and even as blissed out as Jaskier obviously looks, he still makes a production of keeping eye contact and swallowing deliberately, and then opens his mouth again, showing everything is gone.

The sight is enough to make his recently sated dick twitch.

Jaskier looks debauched and completely fucked out as he sits back on his haunches and looks around at everything but Geralt. His eyes finally come to rest on Geralt's left foot, causing him to frown.

"Ah, so sorry, here, let me," and Geralt barely believes his eyes when the bard lowers himself to lick the spunk that had landed there. Geralt's dick valiantly fills in, even as Geralt reaches down to stop him. Luckily, common sense seems to break through Jaskier's lust induced haze because he comes to an abrupt stop a few inches from his target.

"...or maybe not, there's an awful lot of guts here, but I can get a handkerchief-"

"Leave it," Geralt says, hoisting Jaskier up by his shoulder. The bard comes easily, and doesn't seem to mind the manhandling as Geralt adjust him until he's in perfect position to be kissed, which he does.

Jaskier tastes like Geralt's spent, and that's nothing magical, it's spunk, but it is enough to send another thrill of desire to his half hard cock. He wonders briefly if Jaskier would be amenable to being fucked against a tree before he remembers the oil is back at camp. He reigns in his desire and decides to break the kiss.

It is difficult. Jaskier is both clearly very skilled with his tongue, and exhausted. The result is a series of sensual but sleepy caresses, Jaskier's tongue curling against Geralt's own smooth and slow, enough to bank the fire of his arousal, but not instigating it further. It is strangely… comfortable, and it makes Geralt feel warm in a completely different way. 

He finally breaks the kiss when Jaskier grows insistent, trying to turn the kiss more heated, his hips twitching intently against Geralt’s thigh. He considers giving in for a moment, but decides against it, finally taking a step back, though he finds himself raising his hand to the back of Jaskier’s neck, loathe to break contact completely. 

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew, boy,” he says, and fuck, he sounds like he was the one on his knees, voice even more gravely than usual.  
“Oh, but it certainly _did_ fit in my mouth, wouldn’t you say?” Geralt can’t help but roll his eyes at Jaskier’s trademark _abysmal_ flirting, though even he can tell it comes off as more fond than he intended. Of course that sweet state wouldn’t last long. It _is_ Jaskier, after all. 

Though he finds himself strangely glad to have the infuriating sod back to form.

"Next time you pull a stunt like this, I'll really put you across my knee, and not in a fun way," Geralt says, briefly tightening his grip around Jaskier’s nape for emphasis. Having said that, Geralt lets his voice rumble and a smirk slip into his face, moving to caress Jaskier's jaw. "And next time you need my cock, you ask for it."

The predatory glint in Jaskier’s eyes makes Geralt realise that, just _maybe_ , he had been the one biting off more than he could chew.

“ _Yessir_.”

**Author's Note:**

> There was no way to work this into the story, but in my hc Jaskier’s noble family is high ranking Redanian military and he, uh, definitely developed a kink from being around burly, dominating men at a formative age.


End file.
